


I Won't See You Denied

by ecastle_vania



Series: 2020 Castlevania Promptober [4]
Category: Castlevania Lords of Shadow と 宿命の魔鏡 | Castlevania: Lords of Shadow & Mirror of Fate, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: AU Laura - Freeform, All of these things are presented as unacceptable and bad, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Bystander POV, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, I tagged for everything I could think of and I swear this is not as horrific as it sounds now, Implied Degradation (No Details), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Laura from Carmen Relinquo, Multi, Non-Con Dom/Sub Dynamic, Not Canon Compliant, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts, You don't need to know the games to enjoy this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26806717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecastle_vania/pseuds/ecastle_vania
Summary: Death knows his way around the werewolves and the vampires. Children of the Shadow Kingdoms, even they are not beyond his reach. They may escape him for a time, but eventually they all belong to him. There is one here, one who has tried to come to him. He has been denied her twice now and tonight, she will be given to another. But when he finally sees her, she peaks his curiosity and shockingly, his empathy.
Series: 2020 Castlevania Promptober [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953289
Comments: 6
Kudos: 1





	I Won't See You Denied

**Author's Note:**

> It was a rare and interesting thing to be invited to Agharta, the lair of Cornell, King of the Man-beasts. Especially when Carmilla, Queen of the Vampires was in attendance. The Blue Crescent Moon Kingdom was not a place where Death was ever welcomed, much less invited. But this occasion was a treaty signing and a landmark agreement between Cornell and Carmilla. Death was only here to bear witness to the exchange, and mediate any disagreements. The specter’s mouth quirked; _not that they ever asked for his opinion,_ he thought.

The opening banquet was lavish and bloody, which surprised no one, and pleased everybody. Death suspected that much of the tribute of human blood and flesh would be gone by morning. It was allegedly all willing sacrifice. Of course, there was no one alive to dispute that and frankly, he wasn’t going to argue it. Death would never argue with the ending of life. He didn’t care how they got to him, but eventually, everyone felt the touch of his hand. It was his right and he would claim it.

He had been in attendance to Carmilla and Cornell, but they had both retired surprisingly early this evening. Bored with those around him, at least unless a fight broke out, he skulked in the side hall with his plate and dreamed of returning to his realm. Washing that smell out would be heavenly. Vampires always smelled like old blood, and werewolves like week-old bodies left in the sun.

The smell of death was not unfamiliar to him, but he did not care to be reminded of those who would try to cheat his embrace. A ghastly smile ghosted his lips. The key is that they would _try_. No one was truly immortal. They would come to him, kneel to him, be his for a moment before passing to their eternal judgement. But for that moment, he would hold them. He would bind them, and they would be his. It was inevitable.

The hooded head of Death inclined marginally to the lycan that passed him in the hallway, one of the many guards who protected Cornell’s kingdom. Wargs, the massive giants of the wolf clan, patrolled high above the great hall, prowling with watchful eyes and held uneasy truce with the ghastly vampire soldiers who perched like gargoyles. The tension between the guards was lovely, and Death could only hope his services might be needed before the night was through. The robed figure of inevitable demise reached the end of the hallway, and turned down the corridor. Passing his plate to one of the wolfen servants, he decided to take in the night air. Ascending the curving stairs toward the balconies, he didn’t know about the vampires until one of them spoke.

“Please do not ask this of me.” Her voice was low and pleading, surprisingly rich and almost throaty, “I serve you and not him.” There was a wealth of emotion in that voice, but the one thing Death did not hear was the pleasure of servitude. The owner of this voice took no pride in her service, and the acidic edge of hatred was not completely buried.

They were around the other side of the pillar, alarmingly close. He put one foot down to retreat, and the other voice spoke. “Enough. You will do as you are told. You are mine, and you will be tribute,” Death knew this voice well, and knew an interruption here would not be welcome. This known voice accepted many names but, in this exchange, he was fairly certain their name was Master. If the owner of the rich and throaty voice was who he thought, he was surprised she would even bother arguing. She was known as the Pet for a reason.

The Master would never consider a plea from the Pet; indeed, he had heard many tales of her public subjugation and humiliation, where her pleas had only made things worse for her. Nothing had ever swayed the Master from imposing their will. Twice the Pet had tried to come to Death, and twice her Master had denied Death his due. It rankled Death to be deprived of her, and kept him from retreating back down the stairs. After all, the throaty voice of the Pet should have been his now. Who would the Pet go to instead? Who was the ‘him’?

“Will I be returned to you, or am I to remain with Cornell?” the hatred was not disguised now, and Death had to smile with grudging admiration. Whatever the Pet was, the vampire was not cowed. Of course, that was one of the reasons the Master liked her so. Death was frankly shocked that her master would be willing to give her to Cornell. Everyone knew that she belonged to the Master alone.

No one in the Queen’s Court had tried to come between them. He knew that Carmilla’s consorts had once expressed interest in the Pet. Vampire brothers Lieutenant Brauner and Commander Olrox, were legendary warriors that Carmilla had summoned from Hell, and transformed into their current forms. Enormous, powerful and insatiable, the brothers had been welcomed into the Queen’s bed immediately. The trio’s longstanding affair was well-known and admired within the Blood Kingdom. When the brothers had suggested involvement of the Master’s pet, the Master had taken offense. The Vampire Queen, in a surprising turn of events, had forbidden it. There had been no further discussion on the matter.

Curious, Death strained to hear the Master’s response. “If you survive it, we shall see. You have forgotten your place too many times with me, my pet. I tire of your insolence, and I tire of you.”

The eagerness in the Pet’s voice was almost painful, but the words were carefully measured, “You would allow him to end my life? To give me eternal rest? If I do this, I could be allowed to die?” _Yes,_ Death thought, _let her be mine,_ _now_. Death was devoid of things like mercy or compassion, but even he knew that it was long past due to let the Pet die.

The Master’s laugh was filled with cruelty, and Death shivered. There was centuries of pain in that laugh, and nothing resembling sunlight or joy. “You may continue to dream for an end that will never come for a pathetic monster such as yourself. Why would you want die, you will only go to Hell. Your soul is waiting for you there, remember? No, pet, I meant only that your flesh may be so disfigured when Cornell is done with you, that I would have no further use for you in the Door. But I would finally grant the wish of the Queen’s consorts, and allow them to have you.”

The hiss was so low Death almost missed it. “No, Master, I beg you. I will attend Cornell, but I will not…”

There was the sound of rending flesh, and a cry of pain. Death couldn’t see them of course, but he could imagine what was happening. The smell of blood spilled out into the stairway. The snarl was terrifying, and filled with outraged fury. “You would _dare_ try to tell me what you won’t do?” Another wet ripping sound, and Death felt his stomach turn at the saturated-sounding wail. It sounded as if the Pet was drowning. There was a pattering sound; he could hear the spray of the Pet’s blood on the stone.

Death was shocked to discover that he had moved forward slightly, as though he might intervene. He would not, he _could not_. He was a guest here, a visitor, and furthermore, he couldn’t imagine where the impulse came from. Death was not a kind creature, not a benevolent friend. Granted, once, a long time ago, he had been. He had believed that the end could be a kind of solace, a welcome immersion, and shifting between states of being. But he had thought that part of him was eradicated. Evidently, he was wrong. 

“That’s right pet, kneel for me and bleed. Be a good girl,” The Master said with deep satisfaction. Death squirmed, and decided that it was high time he left. He didn’t want to hear any more of this. Backing down a few steps, he turned, and made his way quietly down the stairs. As he descended, he spotted a wolf servant coming down the hallway, laden with food and drink. Thinking quickly, he approached the tawny female and asked, “Is this to go to the King’s chambers?” The female nodded.

“I was just on my way there; perhaps I might assist you?” The female blinked in surprise but didn’t argue, likely because the stairs would be daunting with this load. Taking the platter of smoked meats, Death turned and strode back up the stairs. He asked the servant in ringing tones how the stock of blood was holding out with the horde of vampires. With a barked laugh, the wolf retorted that blood could flow non-stop for days, and it was unlikely to be enough.

Coming around the corner, Death found her. Pressed into the stone wall at the landing, her white hair hung like a curtain that shielded her face and throat from him. It was saturated in blood however, which also liberally coating the front of her gown. Ironically, the blood covered more of her than the garment did. It was cut preposterously low over her breasts and up to the join of hip and thigh. It was the Pet. He remembered her from earlier today. There likely wasn’t a guest who wouldn’t remember that dress and her astonishing curves.

Her entire body seemed to be one long contour, becoming ludicrously full at breast, thigh and hip. Really, those curves seemed to come from another person, they were so generously rounded. Her height saved her features from being too much, but, as they were, they were borderline outrageous.

Right now, they seemed to only accentuate her fragility, becoming vulnerable softness that bore punishment with stoic silence. She was curled into a ball. While she was being quiet, he could still hear her weeping. The Master was no where to be seen. Death feigned surprise, “Oh! I beg your pardon; I didn’t see you. Is everything…”

“Leave us,” came the voice of the Master from the shadow of door on the left of the landing. Death immediately kept moving, with a quick bow to the door. He could not afford to create an issue with the Blood Kingdom. He could only hope his interruption would create enough of an interval that the Master’s rage would subside. That hope died when the Pet spoke.

“Thank you for your concern,” she whispered to him, voice thick with damage. Her vocal cords had been torn, and the sound of her attempting to speak made him nauseous. The Master snarled, and Death didn’t risk responding to the gratitude, lest further offence occur. The servant hustled behind him as well, and they continued up the stairs.

The wolf servant muttered, “Fucking vampires,” behind him as they went down the corridor. Death could only nod. He thought about the surprising resolve of the Pet, who even in her agony would risk further abuse to acknowledge kindness. _Why would that be so important to her?_ he wondered. _She had to know what the cost would_ … There was a ruined wail behind him and he cringed.

“That’s fucked up,” the wolf said. “Cornell would never allow that in his court. I mean, some people like that shit with their lover. But that was clearly not what that was. There was no agreement there. I can’t wait for Carmilla to take her people, and get the fuck out.”

“It’s strange though, is it not?” Death asked the servant, as they approached the massive door to Cornell’s quarters and the guards opened the doors to permit them passage. “The woman on the floor, the one who was bleeding? She didn’t seem broken. Beaten but not broken. How could that be?”

“Who is broken and bleeding?” came the deep, dark voice of the Wolf-King from the shadows to the right. Death jumped, startled and bobbled the platter. The wolfen servant made a sound of distress and bowed low. Death followed suit, and then straightened.

“I beg your pardon, we just witnessed a scene on the stairs that we were discussing my Lord,” the servant murmured.

“Rise,” Cornell said, as his bulk moved into the flickering candle light. His title of Man-Beast was well-chosen for he was indeed a beast of a man, hairy everywhere, with a barrel chest, thick legs and thighs, and hands that could crush a warg’s skull. “Not involving any of my subjects, I trust.”

“No, my Lord,” the servant answered, “between two vampires.”

“The Pet and her Master,” Death added on, noting the tightening of Cornell’s face in response. The King felt something in regards to the Pet, and for the first time, Death wondered whose idea it was to give the woman to him. And to what end? If she was not to stay with him, why would the Master give him access to someone withheld from even the Queen’s Consorts? Was it a stratagem in place for the Queen?

“I see,” the Wolf-King rasped, and shrugged. “That is their affair. So long as my people keep the peace, it is up to Carmilla to enforce and punish the behavior of her own.”

Perhaps Death had been mistaken about what he saw on the face of the Man-Beast, and Cornell simply didn’t like having the vampires around. His nonchalance suggested he meant what he said. With another respectful nod, Death turned, and handed the platter off to the servant. “I apologize for interrupting; I had a small request to make regarding the talks tomorrow evening.”

“Of course, I can hear it now, if you are quick…” Cornell broke off as a soldier approached, and kneeled.

“My Lord, your visitor is approaching,” the werewolf told his King, and Cornell looked at Death.

“I am afraid that our conversation will have to wait,” the Man-Beast stated. “You can make the request to my steward, and he will relay it to me in the morning,” Cornell turned toward the servant. “Tell Meredith and Siri to exit. They are in the bedroom.”

“Respectfully sir, might I just return when your visitor is gone?” Death spoke low, and with deference. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar statuesque figure, pale with curves and bloodied white hair standing as a silent wraith by the door. _Ah, that visitor,_ he thought, and wondered again at why she was here. Why she had been sent in such disarray. If she was meant as a gift, she was a damaged one.

“No, you may not. I will be occupied until the morning. You may go,” Cornell dismissed him, and three servants joined him in leaving. As he passed the vampire, he felt her emerald green eyes on him. Death was uncomfortable under that stare. His appearance was terrifying for a reason. The specter did not care to be gazed upon, if it was not without fear. Hers was not. Instead, he felt as though she saw something in him that he did not want to acknowledge, and he did not care to have known.

“Who are you?” She asked him, and he turned to her.

“He is Death,” Cornell boomed from behind him, “and he is leaving.”

The vampire looked at the King of Wolfkind, and nodded. “May I speak with him for a moment, my Lord? It would be quick.”

Cornell’s grunt wasn’t pleased, but was an unmistakable acquiescence. Those piercing green eyes, uncannily similar to the glow manifested by the use of his own necromantic power, found his undying gaze and held it. The vampire stepped forward and put out her hand. Death looked down at it; pale, elegant, but somehow strong. The black talons were short, almost fingernails, but not quite. He looked up at her again, and noted that the wounds across her cheek and throat had just closed over, the rough skin puckered and twisted in a lilac pattern. No one had ever wanted to touch him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to touch her.

“Apologies,” Death said, shaking his head slowly. “I do not know your name.”

“Ah, of course,” she withdrew her hand. “My name is Laura. I wished to meet you, Death. We have been close, you and I. One day soon, I hope we might be permanently acquainted. Until then, may you show your mercy upon the deserving.”

“Do you wish for my presence so much then, my Lady?” Death found himself asking, surprised by his own voice. He had no intention of asking this, but somehow it just tumbled out.

Laura smiled, a joyless thing of weariness. “Every moment of my undeath. You are a gift I must earn. But one day, I will.” With a nod to him, she glided silently into the King’s chambers. Something in Death tripped over the sadness of her words, the helplessness of her situation, and he spoke again.

“I will watch for you my Lady, and hope you will find your way to me soon,” Death said to her back. Over her shoulder, he saw Cornell, a silent lurking presence who watched him disapprovingly before his eyes dropped to Laura’s virtually naked form with undisguised interest. The vampire rose from her bow to the King, and turned slightly, looking back to Death over her shoulder. As the doors to the King’s room closed, Death met her gaze one more time, and saw her lips move in one word.

“Soon.”

\--- 

She touched  
My arm  
And smiled  
One of these days  
Soon  
Very soon  
Love you 'til then  
Feel my breath  
On your neck  
And your heart  
Will race  
Don't say no to me  
You can't say no to me  
I won't see you denied  
I'm sorry you saw that  
I'm sorry he did it  
An echo  
A stain  
- _“An Echo, A Stain,”_ Bjork

**Author's Note:**

> Picture of Cornell from Konami, all rights belong to them. Picture of female wrapped in red in water by Sina Domke (her work is GORGEOUS, please check her out via Google).
> 
> (This is an alternate POV that explains the events leading up to the memory in[ Chapter 7 of Carmen Relinquo.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26398588/chapters/65298337))


End file.
